What We Think We Deserve
by Spinesless
Summary: Kirk is injured when a rescue mission for Spock goes wrong.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. T for swearing.**

* * *

"You're a fucking moron."

He hears before he sees. He hears people around him moving and talking and shouting, he hears the haggard beeps of machine. Then there's haze, there's the brightness of the overhead sickbay lights, and then there's Bones, edges fuzzy, brow furrowed, unmistakably furious. But, Kirk thinks in that moment, when _isn't _he?

The twitch of his mouth, the slight exhale that takes the place of where a chuckle should be. "Tell me something I don't know." Talking hurts.

He didn't even know that talking _could_ hurt.

Breathing hurts, too. The breaths he manages to take are shuttering and shallow and end on a wheeze. He feels himself being poked and prodded and scanned and stabbed and wants to say _cut it out_ but Bones interrupts before he has the chance to speak or the chance to register that he's being scolded.

"––Jim, why couldn't you have waited for the goddamn _help_ to arrive before you started _gallivanting _about?"

Gallivanting. Big word.

"––said they were going to fire on the ship––" Mouth is dry. Tongue feels like a wad of cotton.

"––yes, a _ship_, with shields and weapons, you think you're fucking––" but Jim at that moment the good doctor is feeling his ribs and one gives and _pain_ floods his senses and he gasps which also hurts and "_Stop doing that, would you?_" comes out as a dignified "sTOPdontthaturts".

"Only one fractured rib, you're goddamn lucky, the rest are just bruised." Kirk was tired of being told he was lucky.

"Spock––"

"––is _fine_. His injuries are minor. Now _you_, on the other hand––"

But the relief is dizzying and Kirk stops listening. Or, it could be a mixture of blood loss and possible concussion, but he prefers to think it's the relief. Relief, that this whole convoluted and somewhat suicidal rescue mission wasn't just an extensive method of re-obtaining a corpse. Spock is okay. Spock is okay.

"Jim. Jim! Damn it, man, stay with me."

Kirk wants to tell Bones to shut up, stop being so loud, he's not going anywhere. He can't bring himself to open his open his mouth and he feels heavy and he's pretty sure he has forgotten how to form words. His answer is some sort of unintelligible noise. His line of sight is narrowing and he feels his eyes slipping shut and realizes, in a brief moment, that there is no pain. He just manages to make out Bones swearing at him, but the yells don't reach his ears, and he is gone.

* * *

_to be continued_

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. T for swearing. Some spoilers for Into Darkness.**

* * *

It's not until he feels exhaustion pressing against his eyelids does he realize how tired he is.

He lets his eyes slide closed and he takes a breath and his hand goes to the side of his face where the skin is tender and darkened with the smudge of a bruise. It's not the only bruise he has sustained, but it _is_ the most noticeable one, striking against his face violently.

There's a bit of a slump to his usually precise posture, like the events of the past day and a half actually carry a tangible weight, one that grows too heavy to bear straight up. He swallows sharply and controls his breathing so that his exhale doesn't come out as a stuttering wheeze. He needs to sleep––hell, even McCoy had told him as much––but he couldn't. Not until he.

Until he.

Saw for himself.

But seeing for himself, with his own eyes, is... is different. To see the body of his captain, of his friend, still and pale and hooked up to half a dozen life support machines, beeping away, is different and yet eerily familiar. No wonder he's tired.

"What the _hell_ are you doing here?"

Spock is brought out of his reverie by the grating voice of McCoy coming from the opposite side of the sickbay. The doctor's brow is furrowed, his lips pulled down by a deep frown. "After what happened today, you need to be at least resting, if not asleep."

Spock regards him. "You should be resting as well, doctor."

"Yeah, well, I didn't go through hell and back, unlike _some_ people. I'll be fine." McCoy has reached Spock's end of the sickbay, he stands on the opposite side of the only occupied bed. With a sigh, he runs a hand through his hair.

The two don't speak for a while; instead, they watch Kirk's chest rise and fall, almost as a confirmation that he does indeed breathe.

It's a situation that reminds them both, uncomfortably, of nearly three years ago: sitting in a white room, watching their friend, their captain, small and pale and sunken, neither of them willing to leave his side. It was a bit different, then, admittedly. But in this moment, some of those memories surface, memories of anguish and fear and the intense, guttural loss. The most direct feeling now is _fear_ and trepidation and it has them both anxious and on edge.

They don't want to lose Kirk again.

Correction: they _can't _lose Kirk again. No one would be able to handle it, not for a second time.

"What is your verdict, Doctor?"

McCoy flinches at the sudden question, taking a moment to consider the answer. He thinks for a moment before scrubbing a hand across his face. "Well. It could've been worse. Could've been a helluva lot worse." He speaks to words to partially convince himself.

Spock waits for him to elaborate. McCoy glances at him before answering.

"He suffered a punctured lung from a broken rib––only one break, the rest just badly bruised––and that, miraculously enough, was the only internal damage. His knee cap was fractured, shoulder dislocated––looked like someone tried to rip his arm off––and a bit of a concussion. A few lacerations and bruises elsewhere, but those are mainly superficial." He didn't even need to look at the PADD that listed off the extent of Kirk's injuries, having treated them all himself. "He took a hell of a beating, that's for sure, but he'll recover. It'll be slow and a bit gruesome, for all of us, but he'll pull through." McCoy nodded sharply. "He'll pull through." He adds quietly, "_Bastard."_

McCoy wrenches his gaze from Kirk's limp form to look at Spock. They share a look, fatigue leaking from their pores, even Spock's usually schooled expression betraying the extent of his concern. McCoy wants to shake the Vulcan by the shoulder, get in his face and ask, "_What the hell happened down there?_" but he doesn't, no matter how much he wants to, because that would be aggressive and not likely to gain any answers.

God, the whole damn crew was dying to know what happened.

Spock and Kirk had gone planetside to survey the environment. There had been an ambush of some sort, communications had been lost and, when they returned, Kirk was shouting about Spock having been taken into the mountain and said that he was going in after him, that they––whatever 'they' were––threatened to kill them all, blast the ship to pieces. Communications were lost again, and they all had waited with baited breath for _hours_ until there had been a deep rumble, feeling like it came from the core of the planet itself.

And, then, they had emerged. Kirk was leaning heavily on Spock, and they stumbled until they could be transported back onto the ship.

Spock wouldn't talk, of course, and Kirk was––well, in no fit state to do much but lie there and try to breathe before promptly passing out.

Spock clears his throat. "It is most fortunate that his injuries are not more extreme."

McCoy snorts. "Yeah. Fortunate. Yeah, that's Jim. Doesn't realize his fortune's gonna have to run out on him someday." He blinks rapidly, realizing just what the fuck he said. Spock looks at him, a crease appearing in his brow, but McCoy doesn't look back at him. He lets out a heavy breath.

"Get some sleep, alright?"

Spock inclines his head but makes no move to get up. Shaking his head, McCoy turns and leaves. All the overhead lights, besides the one, shut off.

* * *

_to be continued_

* * *

**A/N: Geez, this got a lot more attention then I expected. Thank you so for the feedback, it's very encouraging. As this is my first time writing any of these characters, feedback on their characterizations would be soooo incredibly appreciated.**

**Also, question: How are y'all finding this fic? Did you just find it through searching FFN, or through other means?**

**In any case, thank you so much for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. T for swearing.**

* * *

He had never known that darkness could be smothering.

He spends his life among the stars, in an almost endless darkness; but even in that vastness, stars do comfort him, with their pinpricks of far away light, they represent promises and potential and the wonderful _what if?_ factor. He is never alone in space.

But this darkness is precise. It is exact and heavy and presses on his eyelids and when he moves his arms it is almost as if he is moving through sludge, his movements slow and clumsy. He's blind and nearly deaf, only his quick, loud breathing resonates in his ears as he stumbles forward.

He doesn't know how far he's come; he could be going in circles. He doesn't know if he's been walking for minutes, or hours, or days. His palms graze the jagged edges of the carved caves, skin raw and sore. His arms are wide, holding on to the walls on either side. If he lets go he doubts he will be able to find them again.

He needs to get to Spock. He needs to get to Spock. The wall under his left hand disappears and he plunges to the side, through a corner he hadn't remembered passing before.

He turns, and the darkness vaporizes.

Black turns immediately turns to white and his eyes water from by the sudden and violent appearance of light, _everywhere_. He flinches back and blinks rapidly and throws up an arm in front of his face and when he lowers it _there is Spock. _His friend is kneeling in the centre of a pure white room, shoulders straight and head held high, his arms secured behind his back and the Vulcan looks right at him. Spock is mouthing words that don't reach Kirk's ears and there is _fear_ in his eyes, true, unadulterated fear.

He doesn't react fact enough; something grabs him from behind and holds him in a vice-like grip and there is pain and he is screaming.

* * *

Kirk thrashes against the plane of the bed, throwing himself, heaving, trying to get up. His shoulders are pressed firmly into the thin mattress by a male nurse but he knocks his head against the mattress and bed frame.

Bones is swearing, yelling at him, "Jim_! Jim, can you hear me_?_" _The captain's eyes are open and wide and unseeing and he continues to struggle. The noises spewing from his mouth are unintelligible, his gaze is strained in a certain direction. The machines hooked up to him beep at an alarming rate and frequency and though Bones is looking right into his eyes, obscuring whatever Jim is not looking at, nothing is happening. The doctor stabs him in the neck with a hypo and Jim's body instantly relaxes. He sags against the bed and his eyes slide closed and the nurse loosens his grip.

Throughout the ordeal, Spock has stood off to the side, fear in his eyes where fear should not be. He stared into Kirk's eyes and and he too remembered the cave and the darkness.

Bones is panting slightly, a hand to his forehead, and he stares at the unconscious form of his friend. Slowly, he lowers his hand and turns to Spock.

"Dammit, man, this has gone on long enough. What _happened_ down there?"

* * *

_to be continued_

* * *

**A/N: Feedback is very much appreciated! Thank you for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. T for swearing.**

* * *

McCoy regards Spock's outstretched arm with apprehension. "Don't try any of that Vulcan voodoo on me, just _tell_ me what happened, god damn it!"

"Doctor," Spock's tone is even. "An explanation alone cannot fully convey the extent of the events that occurred planetside. You are the one who wishes to know what happened."

McCoy's frown deepens. He glances down to the unconscious form of his best friend then looks back to Spock. "That bad, huh," he says, voice low.

Spock inclines his head an infinitesimal amount, but does not say anything. Nor does he lower his arm. McCoy doesn't break his gaze, the expression on his face searching, contemplating. "Fine," he says roughly, breaking eye contact. "Just––fine."

Spock closes the gap between them and lays his fingers against McCoy's face.

* * *

The inhabitants of the planet had been very persuasive.

They hadn't used threats or, for that matter, even words. Instead, they had barreled into the recess of consciousness, past whatever physic barriers may have be in place, breaking through them as easily as if they weren't there at all.

Spock had never felt more violated in his entire life; much of his youth had revolved around constructing blocks in his mind to guard against unwanted psychic intrusions. To have all that work fall apart in an instant felt like a physical blow. Once they were inside his mind, they were precise.

Images of Jim Kirk, of his captain, of his friend, had filled his mind. For the first moment, they were images of Jim laughing, of him smiling and breathing and leaning forward to tell him something, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, and then the images changed.

Spock was slamming him into the consul aboard the Enterprise, choking the life from his body. He felt anger, as he had on the bridge all those years ago. He could _feel _Kirk's throat under his fingers, could feel his hands breaking bones and pummel into flesh. The fury defied all logic and in those moments, logic, his driving force, the one singular concept that had always been constant, the only thing that ever made sense, was gone. Almost as if it had never existed. In its place was insatiable _rage_, the need to destroy, the need to destroy _James T. Kirk._ There were images of the_ Enterprise _exploding in space, being torn apart, segment by segment and piece by piece.

The presence touching his mind was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving him gasping. It was nothing like a mind meld; there was no warm reaching out and brushing of consciousnesses, no sharing or permission. This was a one-way connection and it _scared_ him.

Spock was still reeling from the intrusion when Kirk himself fell into the room, panting like he had run miles. He had _felt_ then, his barriers splintered and this time, not due to any amount of grief. He was scattered. Spock felt relief, rather purely, and then fear, down to his core. He was yelling at Jim to _run, get out, go_ and then all other feeling was obliterated and replaced by the command _destroy James T. Kirk._

And he. He had felt. He had felt Jim break. He had stood over him, watching him wheeze and gasp and bleed, about to deliver a blow, and Jim had opened his eyes. There was resignation in his gaze, not anger or rage, but a hint of fear and a bit of sadness and he had said, blood on his lips, "They got you too, huh?" And Spock didn't understand, not at first. Anger still burned at the edges but then there was confusion at Kirk's words and he looked down again and there was almost an audible _click_ in his mind as pieces fell together. He was killing Jim. _He was killing Jim._

* * *

The connection is severed abruptly; flashes of memories and emotions that are not his own remain in Spock's mind, images a little girl with long, ashy hair, anger, cold and directed, he sees the endless Space as if he's staring out a viewport and the vacuum mirrors the grief in his centre. The memories fade, quickly, until they're little but strings in his mind.

McCoy is leaning against an empty biobed, almost doubled over. He's turned away from Spock, a hand over his face. "God," he says. "_God_." He turns, face creased, and points to Kirk.

"You did this."

"Doctor, as you had to have seen, I was not in control of ––"

"Yeah, your mind was fucked with, I get––I get that, Spock. I was able to glean that much." He rubs his eyes and mutters something under his breath that Spock is unable to catch completely but sounds something like "_damn Vulcan voodoo_".

"What was the _point_?"

"Excuse me?"

"The aliens. The inhabitants of this damned planet. What did they have to gain by you beating the shit out of Jim?"

Spock looks McCoy straight in the eye, but he does not say anything. Spock doesn't know _why. _

McCoy is searching again. He can't read Spock's nuanced expressions like Jim can––hell, _no one_ can. But he's looking for something, something that may not even be there. He's still a bit dazed by melding minds with a Vulcan––he has traces of memories that are not his staining his mind and he doesn't like it, not one bit. But he felt what Spock had felt. He had felt the invasion twofold, felt barriers breaking inside of him and release.

"They broke you," he says, voice soft, not realizing he's speaking until the words hang in the air, in the space between Chief Medical Officer and Commander. It comes together then, Spock's unease, his insistence of not leaving Kirk, his unwillingness to speak of what had happened.

Spock turns away. He doesn't look at McCoy, doesn't say anything at all. He departs from the sickbay without so much as a glance or a word. McCoy is left with Kirk. The silence is permeated by the quiet lulling of monitors and machines, backed by the slight yet omnipresent hum of the engines.

Grief passes over the doctor, though he's not sure from where it originates. He feels it somewhere in his midst, a part of him that's not quite _him_. A sigh passes through his lips and he quietly surveys the sleeping form of his captain. Nothing has changed, of course, Kirk is still stable, still unconscious.

McCoy remembers through Spock the overtaking _urge_ kill Kirk. He doesn't feel it within himself; it's as if someone had described the feeling to him in detail. God knows that McCoy could kill Kirk at times; the bastard was a pain the ass most of the time. Bones lets his knuckles drag lightly across the skin of Jim's forearm, lingering for just a moment. He shakes his head and retracts his hand and scrubs it over his face.

With a last onceover of Kirk's vitals, McCoy decides that, God, he could use some sleep.

Bitter Vulcans will do that to a man.

* * *

to be continued

* * *

**A/N: Alright everyone, say it with me: This is why we plan our fics. So We don't write ourselves into a hole and spend a month trying to write ourselves out of it, so we have some vague idea where we're going with these story lines. **

**I admit, just going with it just _writing_ is often fun but it can also be immensely frustrating when you realize that you don't know what happens next. I like to plan my stories but I usually don't.**

** In any case. Sorry about the wait. I think this fic will have another chapter or two left to wrap it up. I'm winging it at this point, I have no idea what I'm doing. I think when I started this fic I had some general direction where I wanted to go but now, _ha_. oh god who let me write**

**Thank you so much for reading, feedback is appreciated and encouraged but in no way necessary. **


End file.
